


everybody works/you don’t want you see me like this

by Waypaststrange (moonbeatblues)



Category: Little Witch Academia
Genre: F/F, i need this out of my drafts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 00:33:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13155363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonbeatblues/pseuds/Waypaststrange
Summary: some musings from senior year(?) at Luna Nova;everyone’s dating if you squint real hard





	everybody works/you don’t want you see me like this

**Author's Note:**

> i finished lwa yesterday and i have. too many emotions to put into these, which i already had drafted  
> (chances are i won’t continue these, unless i get requests for something)

Diana doesn’t know any of your music- she eats up your playlists like a new flavor of food, a new continent on the tongue, a new note between B and C- but she knows music. Her fingers feel like a harpist’s when she’s over you, drumming up new things in the flint-catch-back of your throat. Fire to fray the ceilings and umpteen-note octaves strummed right out of you like thin, sweet demons.  
-

  
You dragged back Sucy’s hair to see her other eye once. Yeah, it was what you’d thought, but it was like pulling shower curtains.  
Flipping on the lights to turn over the shadows in rooms you already know, sent belly-up to hiss briefly under fluorescing eyes before shoving back the axis and sending them sliding back behind the cracked door. She always glitters like cats’ eyes until you shut off the flash and she doesn’t catch on the light- Sucy’s softer in the dark, rolls easy and grumbling low when you crawl in next to her, snaps her sarcophagus-sleepy arms open to let you in, a tomb for two. She’s prim in ways she hides like that left eye, shows her teeth at Diana but doesn’t use them. No one would bat an eye if she wrung all her shampoo out of the little red-capped mushrooms by the windowsill, but no, she’s all lavender.  
The eye is just so, pale red-baleful like you’d expect, but softer, somehow. Soft like how she sleeps with her face squashed to your shoulder blade, soft like when she bites your lip for you with those shark teeth and you shiver but don’t bleed, soft like when you vault your bunk and over her and look down hazy with enamor and myopia, soft like her thighs when you press down and in on them, soft like how her voice is under the silence barrier and she won’t put anything else in your drinks, she’ll do anything if you just please please Lotte ___please_ —

  
You’re not afraid to bleed a little.  
-

You don’t know why you always go for pillow princesses, big eyes and hair that fans your pillows like jungle ferns, fragrant and dark.

Something about ‘em; here at least, keeps you spinning, keeps the dream on. You burn and smoke a mile off, American metal and rust and you bite when you kiss and you pull like a magnet.  
But Akko liked to trace your ribs, those paper-sheet lines over the hollow where they met, where the skin tugged tighter and a little too soft for metal and rust, pressed her thumbs in you like clay and dug you up. _Yosh, Americans are_ _fun_ , she crowed and swayed off you like a streetlamp, and she made you so so dizzy.  
Akko was never something you could have, though. She was like holding on to the fuse of a firecracker, either let her burn right out of your hands and streak up to fizz and bang over the parking lot or inch up to hold on and sting when she burst.

  
You could never have Diana, either, but you knew that going in. She did not crawl you like ivy, laugh and tug at your freezing fingers when you slid them under her shirt, snort when you looked at her a little too long after coming down and ghost her thumbs over your cheeks like your eyes were resting on sparrow’s wings.  
No, she was all quiet, all dangerous, all cold glances that swiveled fast to the floor, squirmed a little if you kissed her too long and soured when you talked too much and dragged you behind her with her nails in your wrist and your feet skipping and skidding on the floor. She was brisk, painful, a reminder when you were drifting slow and disparate to _fucking pay attention, idiot_ ; liked shoving you into the library shelves, liked to push you to sit on the polished sink counters in the bathrooms and kneel with her arms crossed over your thighs and her face turned up at you, liked wordless and edging on painful and fanning the sparks from clashing personalities.  
But you think she liked it even better when you were in her room, when you were skulking lanky and low and she settled herself on her bed and looked down it at you. Not inviting, exactly, but expectant.  
She liked the ability to kick you out when your eyes got a little too soft, liked to tip up your chin with her thumb so your mouth closed when she wanted to hear you breathing like a draft horse or bracketing your face so she could kiss you and you’d breathe bliss and peppermint into her (you always kept the mints on you because they stung your nose like handstands in a pool and felt like inhaling a blizzard; you always needed reminders that you were alive).  
You like when Hannah and Barbara sneer at you, now. Bare their teeth- fuckin’ poodles- and Diana silent between them. Because she’d never tell them, but you can’t count the time you’ve spent winding and unwinding her like clockwork, like tightening the violin you played when you were in middle school until the strings snapped and cut you as they split.  
And they cut deep, too. You knew she’d leave and flock to Akko when she was brave enough, gather her up all sheepish with her hair falling into her eyes, and Akko would squeal and press her face into Diana’s neck like she did when she sat on the front of your broom while you watched the birds for big warm updrafts, where the wind carried you into a big rushing spiral and you barely needed magic to stay up, but not quite. Less nervy glee, more soft and cat-like.

  
You knew and it felt like spooning cinnamon under your tongue. Not entirely unpleasant, if you swallowed slow, but a little bitter.  
-

 

**Author's Note:**

> i’m at @seafleece on tumblr and @quetzalcoatlmundi ‘s where i shove my writing


End file.
